


Fate unchangeable

by isasolan



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fate, Political Alliances, failed romance, unhappy ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isasolan/pseuds/isasolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early First Age, a political union between Doriath and the House of Arafinwë would make perfect sense. Aegnor and Lúthien are drawn to each other, but is it love or a shared fate that binds them together?</p>
<p>Canon is respected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resisting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhaella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaella/gifts).



> Aikanáro/Aiknor/Ambaráto/'Náro = Aegnor  
> Findaráto/Findo= Finrod  
> Angaráto/Ango = Angrod  
> Artanis/Nerwen = Galadriel  
> Arafinwë = Finarfin  
> Elwë=Thingol
> 
> I am playing with the sentence "the Eldar wedded once only in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part" (HoME X) to justify political marriages.

I am no poet, bard or singer, but this is a tale that must be written, even if for my eyes alone.

 

*

The tale starts shortly before we journeyed to Doriath for the first time, my siblings and I. I had been helping Findaráto decide which of our knights would accompany us in the journey.

“Elwë’s daughter is said to be beautiful beyond belief, ‘Náro. It would be wise, perhaps, for you to earn her favour while we are in Doriath.”

The remark was casual, nearly an afterthought. In fact, l was walking towards the door when Findaráto said it. It made me stop abruptly.

He was feigning great interest in his silver quill and its ink-darkened tip. I remember thinking it was not fair he looked so much like my father. Some time after the Ice, Findaráto had stopped braiding his hair like our father once had. That was the only difference. Findo smiled, laughed and frowned so absurdly like father that a lot of the times I was not sure whether I faced the head of the House or my eldest brother. At least my father had never fidgeted with a quill in my presence.

“What exactly are you saying?” I asked him. My voice was strange. Strained.

“You heard me the first time,” Findaráto said calmly and lifted his glance to meet mine. “Do not bristle so quickly. It was a mere suggestion and not a command.”

I took a step back with a queer taste in my mouth. I was starting to feel angry, but I tried muting it. For the sake of conversation, at the very least.

We were close kin of Elwë, but not so near that an union with his daughter would be against custom. First cousins once removed, just barely acceptable. The marriage would also strengthen the ties between the Houses, and the Children of Arafinwë would be directly under the protection of the King of Doriath. Away from the sinister Fëanárion cousins and from the machinations of the House of Nolofinwë, reigning but weak.

I was the youngest brother, and Angaráto was already married. The union made perfect sense, of course, but for the interesting matter that Findaráto was also unwed.

“Marry her yourself, if an arranged marriage is what you are after,” I said offhandedly. I had not quite managed to cool my temper.

Findaráto’s lips pursed slightly, like he often did when he was annoyed and his guard was down. That was also something my father used to do, and my sister as well.

“You know that is not possible."

“I see no silver on your finger, Findo.”

He had removed the silver ring that marked his betrothal at some point during the March. Shortly after the Curse or on the Ice, I was not sure. But Findaráto was wearing it no more when we set foot on Beleriand. He wore my father's ring instead.

“A ringless finger means not I am fit to wed,” he said in a tone that signalled the end of the conversion, but it was never said I was meek.

I moved even closer to the desk, resting my arms on it and leaned down. I was the tallest of the brethren. At least _that_ I could use to my advantage.

“Then what does it mean, pray tell? We are both unwed. Why would the daughter of the King of Doriath settle for a younger son of the House of Arafinwë, when she could have the eldest? Court her yourself! You are a far better match than I could ever be.”

“I am not fighting with you, ‘Náro. I am unfit to court her for reasons that are my own and that I barely understand myself. I am not telling you to wed her. All I ask is that you speak to the maiden and if you are so inclined, earn her friendship. Love may blossom between the two of you, or it may not. But do keep it in your thoughts when we ride to Doriath.”

 _Keep it in yours_ , I thought, but I knew I was defeated. It was impossible to argue with him and I did not want to shout.

“And this is your request, as the head of the House?” I asked. I sounded cold and distant, I think.

“It is my request as your brother,” Findaráto answered with some sadness. “And I wish one did not exclude the other.”

“I obey, my lord,” I told him dryly, and left the room at once.

 

*

An arranged marriage! A political union! The thought was revolting. I spent the ride to Doriath sulking so deeply that I wondered if it would not be best to turn back. I rode far from the vanguard, away from my siblings and close to the knights. At least in their presence I felt at ease. I have always been happier with a spear in my hand, removed from courtly matters.

It was not the idea of marrying that repulsed me. No, I had always known I would wed - a simple ceremony in Alqualondë, or perhaps even in Tirion, with Nerwen and Findo, and Ango and 'Lótë, with few musicians because I am such a terrible dancer that my wife would have to understand, and my parents (my _father_ ) smiling proudly when I slid the golden ring on my wife's slender finger. Knowing that this juvenile fantasy would never happen dismayed me profoundly, but no one had said I ought to forgo my dream of a wife as well.

"Elwë will not be impressed by your scowl."

I was never good at keeping things from Angaráto. My brother had slowed his horse until he was at the rear of the convoy, and matched his pace to mine so that we were riding side by side. He was looking at me with a smirk, but not a mocking one. It was full of understanding, and maybe even of pity. I wanted none of it.

"Did Findaráto send you to reason with me?"

Angaráto scoffed. "Since when do we need Findo to ride side by side?"

My brother was an open book, and he was genuinely offended. So I relented. Ango has always been on my side and by my side. We were rarely apart - now I sometimes think that is perhaps unusual even for brothers, but we are close in age and my first memories are with him, my brother Ango who was my confident and fellow troublemaker when we were children.

"Findo should mind his own heart," I said, "and stay away from mine."

"I cannot fault you for thinking so. But love often comes when you least expect it. A nudge in the right direction is not as intrusive as you think."

"No one nudged _you_."

My brother had fallen madly in love with Eldalótë when he was barely of age. I had seen it unfold right from the day they met in her father's silversmithery. A speechless Ango is a sight to behold and I knew instantly that this was an important moment for him, and for us. That was when I decided that I too would marry for love.

"Those were different times, 'Náro. Happier times. Safer places."

He looked at the forest uneasily, as if expecting evil creatures to spring from it any moment. _Let them come_ , I thought, _let them taste my spear_. But though no craven my brother was of a gentler disposition and steered away from fighting whenever possible. Which was almost never. I found him in tears after our first battle, but he refused my comfort then. He had killed more creatures than I had... He is a fiercer warrior than he realises. I wish I could make him see. There is so much I wish he would see. But I digress.

I told him, "Happier times, you say. Must I forsake my happiness as well?"

"Lúthien is extraordinary, 'Náro. She will make her husband very happy one day. I would rejoice if he were you."

My brother had been the first of the Ñoldor to ride to Doriath and returned to us still in awe of Lúthien's beauty. A fair Princess and a grumbling silver King, in a thousand-cave Palace. It sounded much like the tales my mother used to sing us when we both were boys -and we behaved at bedtime, which was seldom. All were in wonder with his exuberant description of the Princess, but Eldalótë was not amused. She can be a lovely fool sometimes. My brother adores her, and Lúthien was to him naught but a song sung alive. But not my song.

"No!" My voice was louder than intended, and it startled my horse. I had to make him circle Ango's to calm him. "I will marry for love, Ango! Not to please Findaráto. Why can't he marry her himself, if it means so much to his ambitions?"

Ango held me by the arm. He nearly unsaddled me. His iron grip is terrible when he closes it on someone.

"Hush up, 'Náro! Do you want every knight and squire to hear?"

He pulled me aside so that we were no longer riding with the convoy. I could do little but follow, as long as he held me. It was unnerving but I knew I deserved it. I cannot hold my tongue. Ango is much the same, but his wrath is slower to spark.

"Think about it, little brother. If Findaráto marries Lúthien, Elwë would expect him to remain in Doriath, in his court. He does not strike me as a father who would send his daughter away, even with a husband. And you know of Findo's intentions to find lands to rule. It was what brought us here, him, Nerwen and me. And you? You told me you wanted adventures. You said you wanted to fight. I heard not that you wanted to be a lord to rule your own lands."

"And pray tell what adventures and fights I would find in Doriath, rotting in court like some delicate scribe? Say clearly that I am but the third son, disposable and unimportant, easy to be rid of!"

"I said no such thing! Do not mistake Doriath for our sleepy kingdoms in Aman. Many battles are waged in the borders, where the Girdle weakens. You will find no lack of adventure there. And there is no shame in being a third son, 'Naro. Our father was one, and he wed Olwë's only daughter."

I gaped at him. I had not thought of it that way. My father was a younger brother of two mighty ones, and nonetheless had led the happiest life and the tightest House. Until he forsook us.

"They fell in love as children," I said quietly, for the sake of arguing. "Finwë did not command father to court Olwë's daughter. His heart found hers unbidden, in childhood."

"Bidden or unbidden matters little if love does come in the end."

We Eldar marry for love or at least by free will. I had seen some of those 'free will' unions among our Vanyar kin, so very dull. Frightening.

"You do not understand," I said, knowing I sounded like some child, "a star will catch on my lover's hair."

"What is that? A song?"

Ango's smile made me wish I had never spoken of it. It is a dream I have had since I was a boy. My wife is dark-haired as a raven, and a single star shines on the side of her hair. Sometimes there is a lake, sometimes there is a meadow green and golden where the wind twirls. I have never seen her face. Only the star. As a child I would linger near Varda's Halls and watch her helpers for hours, hoping to find my beloved one day; Maia or Elf, it mattered not to me. But I never found her. I refused to despair at the thought that in Beleriand perhaps I never would.

"'Tis a dream I have," I said, embarrassed. "I know not her face, but I know her star."

My brother did not laugh. He stayed silent for so long that I wondered whether our conversation was over. But then at last he said, "Find your star-wife, 'Náro. If Lúthien is not her, then do not turn from your dream. You may still ride North with me, and we will look for your maid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the star, from the Athrabeth (HoME X):  
>  _"Now he will ever remember thee in the sun of morning, and that last evening by the water of Aeluin in which he saw thy face mirrored with a star caught in thy hair "_


	2. Courting

We arrived in Doriath at night, which was oddly fitting seeing that their kingdom had been built in the darkness. I had felt the gentle brush of Melian’s power when we passed the Girdle, but the journey to the Palace was long. There Elwë awaited on the steps of his Palace. Elwë, and his court. Angaráto walked up to them first, as the herald of the House and the only one of us already acquainted with the King. My father’s banners flew proud in his hand.

“King Elwë Singollo,” he said, bending the knee, his voice loud and clear. My brother underestimates the power of his speech, like he underestimates everything he does. “Grand-uncle. We greet in you in the name of Eärwen and Arafinwë.”

Elwë was tall and silver, but unlike my grandfather. He had a sternness about him where Olwë was merry; his eyes were distant and grey where my grandfather’s were blue like the sea. He nodded so stiffly to my brother’s greeting that it was hard to ascertain whether he was pleased to receive us.

Angaráto went on, unmoved. “May I introduce my brother Findaráto, the eldest and Head of the House in my father’s absence?” Findaráto bowed, charming and placid as he excelled to be.

“And my brother Ambaráto, whom my mother called Aikanáro, the youngest but bravest son of Arafinwë...”

I wanted to slap the back of Angaráto’s head for his unnecessary flourish. Elwë’s eyes met mine just when I was smirking inwardly, and I worried he found my glance too bold, or disrespectful, so I lowered my eyes as I bowed.

“...And Artanis, my fair sister, thrice wiser than her brothers.”

I would have snorted then, had my sister’s glare not forbidden me to. I noted with amusement that Angaráto had not said ‘whom we call Nerwen’ when introducing her. That was wise.

“I welcome you in Doriath, nephews, niece. And so does my wife Melian.”

That Melian was a Maia could not be denied. Her hair was long and dark, and fell upon her silver feet... More grey than silver, like the trees about us. Something in the way she blended with the forest made me think of Yávanna. She was more gracious than Elwë, and embraced us one by one like an aunt would greet her nephews after a long separation.

And then I saw Lúthien.

All of Angaráto’s praise could not have prepared me for her. To say she was fair was like saying Laurelin was bright. I have no talent for poetry, but her hair was as dark as the night around us, and her skin had the faint glow of Isil. I remember not what she wore, but it must have been blue. She always dresses in blue.

She embraced Angaráto warmly, then held Findaráto’s hands. And then she stopped in front of me. Her eyes were silver, like Telperion. They met mine and I read surprise in them, surprise and recognition and something else that sent a shiver through my body, something larger, akin to fate foretold. It shook my fëa so violently that I feared my legs would falter. And then I noticed she had a single braid around the back of her head in which a single white star was caught. She smiled at me, and I thought I had never lived until then.

“Lúthien,” I said, and dropped to one knee to kiss the hand she had not yet given me. Such a dramatic display was more fit for a merry garden in Alqualondë, and not the solemn front steps of Doriath. I heard a murmur in the crowd and I felt foolish as can be.

But when I looked up, Lúthien had turned the loveliest shade of pink. “Well met, Aikanár.”

I have no recollection of whom I met next. The lords of Elwë’s court, surely. Galathil, Celeborn, perhaps. But I did not see them. My eyes never left Lúthien. She had returned to her place behind her father, but she looked my way as well.

“Is that a star I see on her hair?” Angaráto whispered in my ear as we were led inside the Palace. I told him to hush up, but I had seen it too well. The ornament she had chosen for her hair could not have been more fitting. Yet I felt somewhat uneasy. The dream had showed a real star, not a hairpin, but I supposed it mattered not in the end.

“Eru Almighty, Aikanáro, must you always be so vexing?” Findaráto whispered, on my other ear. “That display was as subtle as a brick wall. What possessed you to kiss her hand that way?”

They were infuriating, so I walked away from them. I wanted nothing more but to have a moment alone with Lúthien.

 

*

It did not happen for a few long, excruciating days. We were paraded together in Doriath (the four of us like a four-headed golden creature) to meet lords and ladies and admire yawn-inducing architectural wonders. They sat us together at dinner, and there was scarcely a moment where I could break away from my siblings and seek Lúthien alone.

Findaráto and Ango seemed content with our unbreakable company, but my sister and I were restless. I noticed her sighing when one of the silver-haired lords suggested a tour to view the piping system (fascinatingly powered by a long waterfall that carved deep in the caverns, he said) and so I found my best ally out of the tedium of playing the charming guest. I laced my arm with hers.

"I know what you want," my sister whispered. "And I want to speak with Melian. They spend the mornings together in the garden-terrace at the top of the Palace."

I did not question how she knew what I longed for. Nerwen always knows. It used to anger me when we were children, but it was quite useful in situations like these.

"Are you coming, my lady?" the silver-haired lord said when he noticed we had stayed behind. His name was Celeborn, but it did not remember it then.

"My sweet sister would prefer a walk in the gardens," I said with effortless ease. "Ladies love flowers for reasons that elude me, yet I would gladly escort her myself but for the fear of offending you and your thoughtful excursion." Nerwen dug her nails deep in my arm but my smile did not waver.

"Not at all," the lord said with some surprise. "The Queen's gardens are exquisite. Forgive me for not having thought it would please you to see them."

Findaráto was too busy admiring the walls, but Ango looked so amused that I thought he would burst into laughter and betray us, so I led my sister away hastily. She barely waited to be out of sight to slap my arm.

" 'Ladies love flowers'? That was hardly necessary. Now he will think I am some foolish maid giggling over the foliage."

"Why does it matter what he thinks?" I asked, and when she did not reply I added, "It got us what you wanted, did it not? There is your Melian."

The Queen was combing her long dark hair, surrounded by flowers and birds like I have only seen in Yavánna's lands. The silver lord had not hyperboled. The garden was exquisite.

"And there is your Lúthien," Nerwen said and let go of my arm to walk to them with a charming smile.

Indeed Lúthien was there, plucking on a harp absently as if her thoughts were far from there. I could wax on for pages about how beautiful she was that morning, and it would still not do her justice. Never mind the garden! No flower could be exquisite unless Lúthien touched it with her hands.

I would have stuttered and mumbled if I had to speak then, but Melian saved me from it when she stood to embrace my sister, barely sparing me a glance.

"Artanis! At last you find me. Come, come, I have long waited your visit. You will be my best pupil, I know it. There is so much to say," she said, and led her away for a walk as if they were lifelong friends meeting after a long absence.

And so it was that I stayed alone with Lúthien.

My face was very red (I knew from how warm my cheeks felt), but I could no longer reign my feelings to order. I walked towards the bench, and felt with every step that I might falter. Lúthien smiled at me when I finally had the courage to meet her silver eyes.

"Sit next to me, Aikánar," she beckoned and I sank in the bench like a clumsy child. She said _Aiknor_ , the word doubtless strange for her dialect.

My tongue was infuriatingly tied, and when I finally found my voice again, all I said was, "I love you!" and I dared to take her hands in mine. It still embarrasses me today, but I was young and foolish, and knew little of love and wooing.

"You are bold," Lúthien said but did not remove her hands. Her face was as delicate as the flower behind her. "And I would call you hasty to speak of love, had I not seen your coming in a dream."

I kissed her hands as fervently as the first day. It did not surprise me she had dreamt of me. "I too have seen you in dreams. What did you see?" I asked eagerly.

"The bold son of a younger son from a land afar, crossing the forest to find me. At first I thought your brother was the one, but he was already wed. And when I saw you, I understood. It is you I have been waiting for. Though..." She sounded puzzled. "In my dream it seemed you had come in secrecy."

I did not puzzle _me_. Though she had the hair of the maiden in my dream, the star hairpin in was not quite how I had seen it. It was disquieting, but I was too giddy to let a shadow come between us in that perfect morning. Who else could the maiden be but her?

"In mine there were no caves, but a meadow, and often a lake." I told her the rest of my dream, breathless and dizzy with her nearness. But as I spoke my disquiet grew larger, and it frustrated me to no end.

"There is a lake somewhere in the forest. We could go see it one day, if you wish."

There was something merry and mischievous in her eyes. My heart raced at the suggestion. "Unescorted, my lady?"

"This is my father's kingdom, and I go about as I please. You are my guest, are you not?"

I agreed, of course. She laughed and leaned in to press a perfumed kiss to my burning cheek. And so began my brief and wretched courtship of Lúthien.

 

*

It was an odd courtship, because the Sindar had not as many rules as we did regarding couples. It was betrothal or naught. Since neither of us felt keen to wed yet, we were but good friends, and as such were allowed to be together far more than Ñoldorin custom would allow. We spent long hours by the lake she had promised to show me. It was not the one from my dreams, that was plain to see. That was troubling, but there was so much to do, so much merriment to be had that I pushed those thoughts away. Yet they lingered in the back of my mind.

"Has your hair always been like this?" she asked with some amusement. She loved threading her fingers through my disheveled hair.

"It has, to my mother's chagrin!"

She always laughed whenever I spoke of Aman, so I spoke of it often, as painful as it was. But she had perceived the unnamed shadow in my tales.

"It was an unhappy journey, was it not?"

"Dreadful," I said, but she did not insist. That was fortunate. Foolish as I was I would have confessed everything, Alqualondë and the Ice.

Lúthien taught me to dance, incredible as it was. I have always been a rotten dancer, but in Doriath the steps were uncomplicated enough to memorise. Grace, however, was another matter. She despaired of me bending my hand the right way or bowing low enough, until she convinced me it was not unlike holding a sword. By the time of the midsummer feast I had practised enough to be somewhat proficient, and not to shame her if I escorted her. We led the first dance, I in golden and she in blue, and knowing that the crowd admired our union filled me with a pride I had seldom felt before.

She sang for me as well. I could sit for hours by her side, mesmerised by the images she conjured. Not even Findaráto, and I daresay not even Makalaurë, could have held such power in his voice. I wished I had their skill so I could mingle my voice with hers without tainting the purity of her sound.

“It has not been easy,” she told me on a grey morning. An unexpected drizzle had soaked our clothes and we had sought refuge in an enormous tree. I felt quite Avari up there. Lúthien was perched on a branch across from me, and whenever she shifted her balance her dress would lift slightly to reveal a perfect leg. “It has not been easy being the daughter of a Maia. Not Daeron, not my silver cousins, not any of my lady friends understands what it is like being half-Ainu.”

“And what is it like?”

“Lonely. Dreary. Empty.”

She said the three words at once, as if she had repeated them in her head so often that they were indissociable. I slid closer to her on the tree - a feat in no ways easy since the branches were wet - to place a soothing hand on her shoulder.

“I am often aware of... subtleties of the mind that full elves do not perceive. It becomes a one-way conversation, no matter how carefully I stifle my insight. Sometimes I think I have no true friends. But in my dream, you had an... otherness about you as well. It was supposed to make me feel less isolated. You coming from Aman should...”

I had this feeling of ‘otherness’ in my dream as well, and I had sometimes wondered if it meant I was to love a Maia when no such union existed in the Blessed Realm. But Lúthien had not finished her sentence. She was looking at me with a blend of doubt and skepticism that made my heart run colder than the Ice. She was judging me, looking inside of me, and was horrifyingly finding me lacking.

And this I knew because the infuriatingly insistent voice in my head had never quieted! I too had many doubts. The 'otherness' she had described could very well be Findaráto's mind-gifts, and as bitterly as I had suggested their union at first I in no ways wanted him to replace me at her side.

“Tell me more of your dreams,” she said quite suddenly, and her terrible doubt vanished in the wind. I silenced mine dutifully.

Our conversations often turned to the dreams, anxious as we were to prove they had become true. That day I described the meadow as vividly as I recalled it, knowing fully well that there were no meadows in Doriath, or anywhere near. I had taken it to mean we would eventually settle somewhere else, but as I described the breeze swirling in the gold and green grass I wondered if we were meant to be at all.

“What else?” she urged me when I quieted.

“Naught else, Lúthien. I have told you all I dreamt. What of you? What else have seen?”

She looked down, as if weighing her words, her hands clasped on her lap. A leaf had caught on her hair where the rain still glistened, but I made no move to touch it.

“I see my husband, but not his face,” she said at last. “I see a house in a clearing where we are happy. He kisses my hand, like you often do. There is a star in the house, but I know not what it means. The rest are but... fragments of life. Laughing at something he says. Sharing strawberries. Sometimes, I see our lovemaking.”

I was utterly unprepared for this admission and nearly lost my balance. My trouble must have shown on my face because Lúthien looked surprised, and then she smirked.

“What is the matter, Aiknor? Do you Ñoldor not talk about these matters in polite company?”

I tried to reply something witty, but the thought of Lúthien thinking about _those matters_ had ignited a fire that I was finding hard to restrain.

“No, we do not,” I said and my voice came out hoarse. It was unnerving. I tore my gaze from her and closed my eyes to focus on my body, to reign in my feelings and regain some calm.

But Lúthien placed a hand on my thigh and sent my good will to the Void. “What are you doing? Why do you silence what you so clearly want?”

I could have explained that it was our custom. Something we learnt as boys, just as we learnt to sing and run and not to wail for food. It was so deeply ingrained in me that I could not disassociate myself from it. It would have been like gorging on sweets before a feast - and that was an unfortunate analogy because I knew precisely how pleasant _that_ could be. So I stayed silent.

“Do you deny it?” She insisted, leaning closer to me. Unnerving was no longer enough. Titillating was more like it.

I met her glance, then, and gave in to the fire. “I deny nothing,” I said and slid my arm around her waist.

The branch was wide enough to lie on, but some trees are hardly made for wooing. I was still somewhat hesitant, but she pulled me against her. It was too late for restraint. I ran my fingers through her hair, undoing her tresses and kissing her dark locks, tasting her sweet skin. If Elwë knew... if my _brothers_ knew...!

“Where is the Ñoldo now?” she teased.

“You forget, my lady, that I am also half-Teler.”

With this I allowed myself to rest on her, and tilted my head to kiss her lips. My heart was racing, but the instant our mouths met was one of the most disappointing moments of my life. The best way I can describe it would be like throwing a bucket of cold water into a raging fire, and watch dispassionately as it dissolves into ashes and smoke. That is exactly what kissing Lúthien felt like. I could taste her lips, but instead of alluring they were stiff and uninviting. It was the first time I kissed a maiden, so there was room for improvement, but my fëa shuddered in protest with such violence that I knew instantly that it would not do. It felt wrong. We should not have been kissing.

I pulled away hastily. I wondered how rude it would be if I wiped my mouth, but I wanted to do it very much. I did it anyway. I had never thought a kiss would feel so revolting. One glance at Lúthien made it clear that she felt much the same. She would never be my wife. I was angry and confused, so I slid down the tree and ran back to the Palace.


	3. Failing

I would have handled the situation otherwise had my brothers still been in Doriath, but they had ridden away a fortnight earlier. Findaráto went west, back to Nolofinwë’s camp, and Angaráto rode north to scout the land. He had become hesitant in my presence before leaving. Many a times it looked as if he would say something to me about Lúthien, but he never did. (I would not have listened anyway.) He embraced me when we parted, and said, “My offer to ride North still stands, if you ever change your mind.” It left me with the disquieting certainty that Ango knew me better than I knew myself.

But they were long gone, and Artanis was absent from our quarters. I had no one to confide in, no to vent at, no one to point out to me how callously I had treated Lúthien. I sank on my bed, though I was not tired and it was still day out.

We children of Arafinwë have been blessed (or cursed) with foresight and an empathy that gives us insight into the minds of others (which made learning Sindarin easy, aside from the fact that it was not so distant from our native Telerin). My father taught us these skills with various degrees of success: Artanis was his best pupil and I was his worst, but that day I was disheartened enough to glimpse at the future, if I could.

I saw twin sons and a daughter, dark-haired like Lúthien.

_They played together by a river in what seemed to be a lonely island. The girl's name was Elwing, and she called me father in a sweet piping voice. Then a large battle, a union of armies like Beleriand had never seen. One of my twin sons rode with me under the banner of my father, and the other with the silver lords under Doriath. I briefly saw Findaráto and Artaresto in the field but not not Ango. The women were there too, Lúthien and Artanis and Elwing, healing the wounded. I saw Elwing meet a golden haired boy who wore Turukáno's colours in mariner garb. He was... odd. Not quite Elven? but I did not know why. The moment they met was important, the vision insisted, but when my Elwing kissed his bloodied forehead it felt wrong and sad, like it should have been otherwise. Just then the world broke, and chaos and fire and death engulfed us all. Moringotto had won and we were annihilated._

That was so distressing that I ran from the vision to take refuge in more pleasant folds of my mind. The dream of my wife returned to me, soothing and familiar.

_I tried to see her face but I could not, no matter how I lifted my eyes. But she was not Lúthien, that was certain. Her laugh was low and rumbling, and her puzzling 'otherness' was not unlike that of Turukáno's boy from the other vision. Something shifted within me, perhaps brought on by Lúthien's earlier teasing, and more of the vision unlocked for me. I kissed the maiden by a lake and we made love under the stars. I lingered wantonly in the union of our bodies, but the vision urged me on. A golden-haired daughter that I only held in my arms to name (fire-flower). She too was 'other', but I had not the time to admire her, distressed as I was urging my wife to flee. Then fire came and I died in the flames, but the vision continued. My daughter was fostered in Doriath and wed a dark-haired son of Lúthien, to beget Elwing and the twins. The last I saw was Elwing embracing the golden-haired mariner by the sea, and hope was rekindled._

I came to with a gasp, sweaty and undone, retching by the edge of the bed. I had been gone for hours and it was alright night. Artanis was at my side, wiping my brow with a nice, cold cloth.

"Are you mad?" she scolded. "You have no training for such an effort of the mind!"

My thoughts were not in order and I was weak and spent. That was the reason I had shunned my father’s teachings so often. Being tired inside was not something I relished feeling. I wanted to tell her to let me be, but my voice had not yet returned.

“What were you trying to see?” my sister insisted, but I turned my head away from the cloth, pleasant as it was. I did not want to discuss it with her. I would not have known how, had I wanted to. The vision still made too little sense. But Artanis was clearly distressed. She took her hands in mine.

“I’m fine, sis,” I croaked at last. “Are you playing the healer?”

“Perhaps,” she said hesitantly.

Maybe that was what she was studying with Melian in such secrecy. It made sense, but there was much more to Artanis than just healing, with all her talent and her skill. She could be anything she set out to be, I did not doubt it for an instant. I noticed for the first time she had an unfinished cross-stitch sitting on her lap. That was the strangest sight of the day, and I had seen myself die twice.

“What, you stitch now?” I asked in disbelief, assaulted with childhood memories of Nerwen crying and screaming whenever my mother tried to make her sit to stitch. It saddened her, I knew. Teler women pride themselves to be great seamstresses, but my sister hated it.

A faint blush covered her face. “It puts the mind at rest. It is soothing, in a way. The... Sindar ladies have been teaching me.”

If she had told me she had grown two heads I would have been less surprised. The embroidery was clumsy, at least, that was the only hint that this strange being was my sister. Her dress, too, was unlike her; it accented her slender figure like I had only seen it done in Doriath. And her hair was arranged unusually, full of flowers. She never liked flowers in her hair. I did wonder briefly what transpired in the Palace when I was alone with Lúthien, but the mere thought of her sent me into distress again.

“‘Náro, stop thinking, you will make yourself ill,” she said and tried to hold me in her arms.

I pushed her away. “I said I am fine. I just need to get away.”

“You _have_ gone mad. You are still too weak, do not try to rise.”

I rose from the bed anyway and schooled my legs to ignore how weak they felt, and my body to forget how much I wanted to sleep. A weary body is cured with rest, a weary mind with action.

“I cannot lie here and wallow in bitterness. Galathil said something about sending a patrol east. I will join them to clear my mind.”

“You will certainly not! Do you wish to get killed?”

She was tall, but still shorter than me. I moved her aside effortlessly. “Do you find my warrior skills lacking?”

“I find your seer skills lacking! Your mind is too weary and you will make mistakes. You mustn’t go.”

“But I will. Bid the Queen farewell.”

I said the Queen, yet I really meant Lúthien. Artanis pestered me onto the courtyard, but at midnight I still left with the eastern patrol, weary but relieved to get away.

 

*

I returned a month later, bloodied but victorious, and proud as a peacock. We had slain eight orc battalions near the eastern end of Doriath; I had killed four dozens myself. Thingol received us on the steps of the Palace in great pomp and the crowd cheered for us. But Lúthien was not there.

I sought her in the gardens with some reluctance but also with impatience. I was high with the rush of battle and wanted to end our dalliance as swiftly as possible to ride north with my brother. I found her on the clearing where I had met her the first day, strumming angry notes out of her golden harp. She looked up when she heard me approaching.

“So at last you return,” she said, almost with scorn.

“I return a hero. I have slain the orcs that threatened your father’s realm.” How proud I sounded! I am still ashamed of it.

“A hero, you say. Did it occur to the hero that bidding me farewell would have been gracious?”

“I recall giving you no ring, my lady. Why should you be aware of my every move as if I were your husband?”

“A fine husband you would make, scampering like a petty child when difficulties arise! No husband of mine will treat me with such contempt.”

“All the better, for I mean not to wed you!”

I did regret the offhandedness of my tone when I saw how startled she was. “You led me to believe you were more than a friend to me,” she said slowly.

“You led me to believe so as well, but it is plain we are not be!”

I had a fresh slash on my forehead, courtesy of a feisty orc. The anger had made some blood rise to my face and the wound reopened. I noticed because a scarlet drop fell between my feet. My fingers were red after I brought them up to touch my forehead. I turned away from her briskly, seeking a fountain to clean it up.

She followed me. She sat with me by the fountain and handed me her handkerchief, a pretty laced thing with a four-leaf flower stitched in the middle that I never gave back. Her gentleness shamed me.

“Forgive me,” I said at last. “I knew not what else to do but run from you.”

“You could have stayed. We could have talked. What is it that happened that day?”

I stroked her cheek softly. She was so beautiful, and I loved her so much, which made all the more tragic to part from her. “Don’t you know?” I asked. My voice was but a whisper. “You felt it as well. It was not right.”

“I felt that you loved me.”

“I did. And I do. But you are not the wife I dream of.”

She looked down, biting a lip. The fairest creature to walk on Arda, and I dared to refuse her! I knew I was crazy. I took her hands and held them tightly.

“You have seen the golden mariner too,” I insisted. She looked shocked, but nodded eventually. “He must meet Elwing by the sea or all hope will be lost, whatever that means. Our fates will join, but not through us.”

“What if we are mistaken? What if those visions are untrue? Designed by the darkness to keep you and I childless and bitter, when we could have had it all! Aiknor, I want those children. The twins boys and Elwing. They are ours. If all wars of the world are in vain and all must fall to ruin, why deny ourselves what is real to chase uncertain dreams?”

I pressed my forehead to hers, forgetting the wound. I could feel her sweet breath mingling with mine. It was the hardest conversation I had ever had. I too thought like her... why not, why not give in, why not forget those fantasies and wed her?

“Because those dreams are part of us,” I said with some effort. “I have had them since childhood, long before the Shadow came. They are _me_. That maiden is somewhere out there waiting for me, and your husband will one day come for you. We must believe in this, my Lúthien. The day we fail to listen to our hearts is the day we are doomed to darkness.”

“Only you would understand,” she said.

She was crying, and it shames me not to say I was weeping too. I pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. A brotherly kiss. A friendly kiss. We stayed long by that fountain in the saddest of embraces. I knew I would die soon, and I prayed to no deity in particular that I would not depart Arda without finding my beloved.

“And now I must leave you,” I said when we had both calmed. “My fate lies not in Doriath.”

Our hands were still joined, and she was stroking mine. “Where will you go?”

“North with my brother.” It was not too late. I would send word of my coming and he could meet me on the way.

“You always say ‘my brother’ when you mean Angrod, and never Finrod. Why is that?”

She was smiling, but I was not. “You have no siblings, Lúthien. You cannot know what it is like to follow and obey one of them solely because they are older than you. Ango was always my brother. Finrod has become something else.”

“Finrod loves you very much. He too was worried when he left.”

“And I love him... The distance between us is not insurmountable yet.”

“Then surmount it, before it is too late.”

Those were the last words Lúthien said to me in private. I have not yet been able to do as she bid me and mend the ever-widening gulf between Findo and I. That day I left her in the garden quickly, before I regretted our decision.

I walked the long way to my bed chambers, mutely accepting the endless congratulations of every courtier I met. Thingol was very pleased, they said, I was a brave warrior and would protect them well. What a fine consort he will make, they whispered when they thought I could not hear. Little did they know it would never be. It filled me with raging grief and I hastened back.

"There is something I must say," Artanis said as soon as I entered our quarters. I barely looked at her.

"Not now, Nerwen. My heart is broken tenfold today."

"Yes now, before you disappear again. 'Náro, there is someone here to see you."

Only then did I notice Celeborn standing stiffly by the tea desk. He was tall and grave, and his hair was unbraided but not unkempt. He had not joined us in the eastern patrol, which had vaguely surprised me but hardly occupied my thoughts. I considered dismissing him - I was very grieved, after all, and in no state to be courteous - but the way Nerwen was fretting next to me made me hesitate.

My sister does not fret.

"You wish to speak to me, Celeborn?" I said, omitting the 'well met' I did not mean. "Your skill with the bow was missed in the patrol."

"I was grieved not to join you, but I had pressing matters to attend in Doriath. I must congratulate you on your excellent performance."

I waved my hand impatiently to signal it was not necessary to flatter me, and to get to the matter swiftly. He seemed a bit offended, then timid, and finally drew himself taller and proud.

"My lord Ambaráto, since your father is absent... I wish to ask for the honour, with your permission and your blessing, to have your sister's hand in marriage."

Asking _me_ to wed him would have not surprised me more. I turned to look at my sister in disbelief. She looked young and afraid, with a sheepish look I had not seen on her face since we were children and she turned to me when she displeased our father.

"You have consented?" was all I managed to tell her, and she nodded her head yes.

Who was this Celeborn? Infatuated as I had been with Lúthien I had largely ignored the matters of Thingol's court. Was he important enough? I recalled that he was a direct advisor to the King, and a distant kin of his, but little else. How Angaráto would mock my lack of courtly manners! He would have known who Celeborn was, what he did, what he lacked, with whom he interacted, and whether he was worthy of our Nerwen. _I am unfit to make this decision in the name of our House_ , I wanted to say, _write to Findaráto instead_... but was I not my brother's ambassador in Doriath now that he had left?

"I wanted to tell you earlier but you were away for so long..." Artanis said when I stayed silent.

I looked at her again. She still wore her hair in the Sindarin fashion, as well as her dress, and I remembered with a displeasing edge how she had attempted to stitch. Was this the reason for her change, for her meekness? Had she tried to make herself more Sinda, to please this little lord? It was revolting to think.

"My sister is no trophy bride to be kept in a cave. She is as bold as her brothers and will have her name in songs woven into the Music. She came to this land with dreams of her own, dreams I would hate to see her forsake for you."

"Dreams can change, 'Náro," she said softly.

 _Can they_. She stroked my arm and that was wrong as well. My Nerwen would have shouted at me not to presume to know what she wanted. Celeborn looked quite distressed, but his voice was steady when he spoke again.

"Ithil chases Arien without presuming to cage her, but loves her no less. I too have no desire to keep Artanis in a cave, nor to thwart her dreams and ambitions. They are extraordinary. My only wish is to be by her side when she fulfills them, and to offer my council and my aid when she needs them."

That was well said, but I worried he was a flatterer. My sister's pride would know no end. "Yet Arien burns Isil when he comes too near," I warned.

"I do not fear the fire," he said, "and silver is slow to melt."

They glanced at each other and I saw the conversation was utterly wasted. Their love was true. At least one us had found it. Findaráto had asked the wrong sibling for a political marriage, though this one was unmarred and sincere.

"You love my sister, Celeborn. You needed not my permission to love her, and you need it not to wed her. Marry her without delay, if you both so desire."

That little sentence landed me into a lot of trouble with my older brothers, but it seemed so pointless to oppose their union. I wanted my sister happy, and if Celeborn vowed to do so, it was not my place to meddle. Asking for my blessing was a mere formality, after all.

“Playing the protective older brother becomes you,” she told me on the morning I left Doriath, an unbecomingly sunny and cheerful day. They were in no hurry to wed, or so they said. I did not relish the thought of returning to Doriath for the wedding, but she had begged me to. Our father had abandoned us. She wanted at least her brothers to attend. “Thank you, Náro.”

“Be good,” I joked. “And you are ever unhappy...”

I glanced at Celeborn hesitantly, but Artanis held my face. “I won’t. But promise me you will also not be.”

I could not promise that, so I hugged her farewell. I clasped hands with Celeborn, and then found myself pulled into Melian’s tight embrace. She begged me not to be reckless, which at least brought a smile to my lips.

“Farewell, dear nephew!” Thingol said from the steps of the Palace. “You leave behind your greatest treasure. Your sister will be well-loved here. I am sorry to see you leave.”

“No one is sorrier than I am,” I said quietly and glanced at Lúthien. Perhaps Thingol wondered what had gone amiss between us, but I sensed he was somewhat relieved. Perhaps he would have refused me for a son-in-law. I wondered if anyone would ever be worthy in his eyes.

Our goodbye was meant to be impersonal outwardly (a mere shake of hands), but I could feel her fëa reaching out to mine desperately.

“I will write you long and often,” I managed to say.

It was difficult to breathe. And then I bent on one knee and kissed her hand, just like the first time we met. The same murmur of the crowd was heard, but only sadness lingered in her eyes when I met them again.

 

*

And so ends our brief story together. I have settled in Dorthonion with my brother. Lúthien is my closest friend, and my thoughts turn to her often. I write to her long letters when the siege permits. We are both happy, in our own way. And every morning I stand on the gold and green meadow where the wind twirls, waiting for the one my heart longs for. Waiting for the maiden with the star caught on her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear: Aegnor's first vision has a version of a Union of Maedhros, more powerful than the canon one since much bloodshed was avoided, but Morgoth still wins Because Fate. In Aegnor's second vision, his daughter with Andreth would have wed Dior instead of Nimloth. The golden mariner is, of course, Eärendil.


	4. Writing

Dear Lúthien,

Forgive me for not writing sooner! So much has happened, and I’ve been so ecstatic I had little time to sit and write. If anyone could understand this, it would be you!

I have found her at last!!! Her name is Andreth and she is everything I dreamed she would be. Everything fits perfectly! It is unbelievably amazing. She is one of the Second-Born of the House of Bëor. I suppose this solves the mystery of the ‘otherness’ we both felt.

I ride to her village every day, just to see her smile.

I hope she returns my feelings. She has to!!! You will love her too when you meet her. I thank Ilúvatar every day that dreams do become true. I really wanted to

 

-

 

Dear Lúthien,

I know not how I find the strength to hold this quill. I did not send my last letter to you and it lies unfinished on my desk. I have fallen in love with one of the Second-born. I thought she was the one for me, but in my eagerness I did not stop to consider what this truly meant. I thought we would have all the time in the world to court and to wed and beget the golden-haired daughter I saw in dreams. I thought to wait until the siege was over, or at least safer. You know Dorthonion is so close to Angband, we can afford no mistakes.

But Andreth is a mortal. She will die in a few dozen years and cannot afford to wait. Her spirit will depart Arda and we will be sundered forever. So I must wed her now against all wisdom or accept the fact that my dream will never come true

Finrod says the Atani and the Eldar are not meant to beget children together. He was the one who opened my eyes to how dreary it would be to join myself to her. I had not talked to him, really talked to him, in a long time but who else can I talk to, Ango is so worried with the siege and he would think i’m betraying him

Finrod is so wise, you know, how can he be mistaken about this. I know he is right, but how can i leave her

how

i adore her, my place is with her, i just

 

-

 

Dearest Lúthien,

I hope this letter reaches you one day. The battle is tomorrow and I know I will die. I am sending Gildor to Nargothrond with this (he was always more of a scout than a soldier and it seems pointless to ask him to die when his skills are elsewhere). Perhaps when the war is over the letter can be sent to you to Doriath. I have included two letters that I started writing but never sent, and also a small recounting of how I met you in happier times. It was not meant for your eyes, but it would be sad to let it burn to ashes here in our stronghold.

Lúthien, I made a mistake. I should have wed Andreth. I am dying tomorrow and I will die knowing I was too craven to risk it all for her. For love. For my dream. I failed to beget the golden-haired child who would wed yours and I lie awake at night worrying that I might have also ruined your fate.

If your man ever comes... if your true love ever does come to you... Lúthien, fight for him. Fight for love. Fight for your dream. Do not let anyone stand between the two of you. Not your father, not your mother. Not anyone. Follow your heart. Risk it all. Forget wisdom. It is worth it. It is a thousand times worthier than dying alone and full of regret like I will.

Your friend who loves you,

Aegnor


End file.
